


Reminiscence

by mizunohikaru



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Feels, M/M, Oneshot, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 18:05:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8855620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizunohikaru/pseuds/mizunohikaru
Summary: He only could remembered the boy’s face.How awkward he squeezed his fingers uncomfortably as he tilted his head and lowered his eyes, cheeks blushed as the boy tried his best to avoid Gellert’s gaze upon him. How that thin nape felt bony under his palm, and how those orbs were painted in adoration, in hope, in love with him. “Yes…” those lips parted and softly replied onto his command, “I’ll do anything for you.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Saw the movie and the plot lingered for a long time inside my mind.  
> Decide that I need to post this after a while so it won’t be a major spoiler. Yes, THIS FIC CONTAIN SPOILERS. You have watched the movie by now, don’t you?
> 
> P.S: Un-betaed. Bear with any typo and bad grammar of mine XDXD

 

 

> 
>     **
>      rem·i·nis·cence    **
>     reməˈnisəns/noun
>           
>     > 
>     
>     a story told about a past event remembered by the narrator.  
>     > 
>     synonyms:memories, recollections, reflections, remembrances
>       

 

  
_He tends to slouch_ , was the first thing he thought as he saw the boy.

That boy didn’t give him much impression during their first meeting. Slightly pale, the timid boy tends to slouch like he was carrying the world’s burden upon his shoulder. The boy was the epitome of a wallflower; he blends with his surrounding, attracts no attention at all. People rarely took a second glance to the boy. He looks like a nobody, someone far from important.

 

_ “Boy, what’s your name?” _

_ “Credence…” Those soft voice was faint in stutter, “Credence Barebone, Sir.” _

 

He always diverts his gaze from another’s eyes as he was afraid of something. Those dark coloured orbs were filled with anxiety and often hidden as he lowered his head—those locks from his awful bowl-cut style hair did a poor job framing his face. His white shirt was crisp and smelled like cheap generic detergent those poor Non-Maj commonly use. Sometimes the metallic odor of blood was emitted from his wounds as well.

 

In short, he’s the type of people that Gellert won’t approach, ever. But he saw that boy in his vision--along with his adoptive, abusive mother. He need to know who’s the obscurial child, and he believed that the squib boy was really easy to persuaded.

 

It was easy to make the boy to trust him, to be depended on him. Those eyes tried they best to hide a glint of hope and adoration everytime Gellert touched him. Tiny gestures like a slight caress on his cheeks, a pat on his head, a brief hug—the boy fell into his charm like little insect got trapped on the spider’s web. It was easy, really really easy.

 

_ “You got the potential, Credence. You can do it. Help me.” _

 

Those cheeks were flushed. The boy’s eyelashes fluttered as Gellert closed their distances into a few inches. “Only you can help me—“ The boy’s breath was hitched as he touched the younger boy’s shoulder, pulling him closer. In deep, low baritone tone he whispered, “You will do it for me… right Credence?”

 

It was a short pause before the latter slowly nod.

 

See? It was easy. And it’s fun to see how flustered the boy acts in front of him. It’s the same old game all over again, like the flirt game he used to play to Albus. _Ah, Albus. Then again, why the hell you care so much about that Scamander… Albus…?_

 

In the end, turns out that it was Credence Barebone himself who own the power of the obscurial. He was the one that Gellert was looking for. _I screwed this up_ , was the first thought Gellert had inside his mind. After all, he’s the one who rejected those plea of help—he’s the one who said that he has no more use of the boy.

He remembered how those orbs reacted to his toxic reply; those eyes widened in shock and disbelief as whatever sparked inside was slowly died in distrust and betrayal. “I thought that you are different...” Those voice was rasped in a tint of anger.

 

Ah, how a broken heart can change someone.

The boy used to be innocently sweet, trembled in his embrace—whispering the name of the Auror whom he disguised as.

 

“Do you sad that we killed the boy?”

Gellert shifted his glance to his investigator and chuckled. What a question. It sounded like _do you care about the boy?_ Care? Him? With Albus, he was fascinated. The British wizard was someone he found amusingly smart and as talented as himself, someone with alluring naïve charms and infectious laughter. He could picture himself and the latter spend times _together_ with heaps of books scattered around them, doing a great project together. With Credence however, he couldn’t imagine such a vivid imagination.

 

He only could remembered the boy’s face.

 

How awkward he squeezed his fingers uncomfortably as he tilted his head and lowered his eyes, cheeks blushed as the boy tried his best to avoid Gellert’s gaze upon him. How that thin nape felt bony under his palm, and how those orbs were painted in adoration, in hope, in love with him. _“Yes…”_ those lips parted and softly replied onto his command, _“I’ll do anything for you.”_

 

His investigator tapped his fingers onto the wooden desk’s surface, waiting for his answer, “Well?”

Gellert scoffed. Raised one of his eyebrow, he replied with the same sentences he said before to Newt Scamander, “Well… Will we die, just a little?”

 

 


End file.
